Strife Within the Tempest
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Song Story Challenge on LJ; the prompt is The Cruxshadows' "Eye of the Storm."


Napoleon was tired. He and Illya had returned to Headquarters after an extremely grueling mission in Iowa that had only been partly successful in his opinion. They had been debriefed for almost two hours by the Old Man who had insisted their assignment was a rousing success because they had destroyed THRUSH's newest lab after having stolen the blueprints for a laser beam. They had been dismissed with orders not to return to work for a week after close of business.

Illya had said he was going to the Commissary for coffee, but Napoleon declined to join him. "I'll meet you in the office so we can do our written report and get the hell out of here" was what he said before he stepped off the elevator. But he didn't head to their office; instead, he found himself in front of the Chapel door. He opened it slowly and peeked inside. If anyone had been in there, he probably would have let the door close and be on his way elsewhere, but when he saw the room was empty, he stepped through.

Padding silently on the thick carpeting, he moved into the second pew and sat with his hands clasped in his lap. He slumped down and let his head droop. He took in a deep breath and exhaled as his head dipped even lower. _I thought I was tired, but I'm not; I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally exhausted. What Waverly was saying was a crock; how can I think our mission was successful when innocent people died unnecessarily? _He raised his head and swiped his right hand across his face. He didn't know if the tear he removed fell because of fatigue or grief. _Those two guys…They would have lived if those men had done what I asked instead of standing there staring like they were watching a television show! It's people like me and Illya and Mark and April putting _our_ lives on the line every day, shedding our blood in shitholes around the world they've never even heard of that make it possible for idiots like them to enjoy their lives and they don't even know it._

Remembering where he was, he muttered, "Forgive me, Lord, but You know I have had a day."

"Napoleon?"

He didn't even turn around at the sound of his partner's voice, but instead gestured that he could enter. He watched as the Russian came to sit by him and then shook his head slightly as he returned his gaze to the front of the room.

When Illya saw nothing was forthcoming he said, "I was a bit surprised that you were not in the office, especially when it seemed that you wanted to finish the report and leave quickly. Given your mood, I thought you might be looking for some solitude and might be in here. Now that I have found you, tell me to go and I will."

Napoleon snorted and patted Illya's thigh. "Stay. I'm not the best company right now, though. I'm having some doubts, is all. I _believe _in what UNCLE is doing so much, I know we are doing good in the world, but sometimes, I wonder if _I'm_ making a difference."

Illya mirrored his partner's posture, settling into the seat looking directly at the wall in front of him. "You do make a difference. You do. To the world. To me. You have more courage than anyone else I know. There were several points in this last mission that could have sent the entire thing sideways, but you persevered despite the obstacles." He fell silent for several minutes. He knew his partner was listening to him. He thought hard about what he wanted to express to Napoleon. "When I first came to the West, like any good Communist I was an atheist. Being your partner, seeing you in action, knowing what you believe have combined in me so that now, I consider myself more of an agnostic." He waved his arm to encompass the Chapel. "I knew to look for you here because _this _is your calm in the eye of the storm. Your faith and the strength of your convictions. Your faith teaches you two things that I know are true: That this too shall pass and that you are never alone."

Napoleon had turned his head to look at Illya as he spoke. His heart was full and for a moment, he thought about hugging the smaller man, but thought better of it. He did something equally as dangerous; he ruffled the blond hair causing the smaller man to flick his head away and glare a glare that didn't reach his eyes. "The Church may be my calm in the eye of the storm, but you're my port in _any_ storm. Thank you, Illya, for reminding me that I'll never be alone as long as I have my God and you." He shook himself as if to rid himself of the sentimentality and friendship he was feeling. "Let's go write up our report, shall we?"

Illya nodded. "In a few minutes. I think I'd like to sit here a while."

Napoleon leaned back in the pew and joined his partner in companionable silence.


End file.
